


the house don't fall when the bones are good

by princessitsy



Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:29:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22974046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessitsy/pseuds/princessitsy
Summary: Maybe their marriage fell apart and she didn't even notice. 1x07 AU
Relationships: Elizabeth McCord/Henry McCord
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	the house don't fall when the bones are good

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this lilacmermaid prompt: “Elizabeth didn’t storm home and confront Henry about cheating right away - she spent her day like normal and ended it by kissing him and taking him to bed, all the while trying to see if she could feel a difference. “
> 
> This is an absolute mess. I wrote it in a completely non-linear manner (writing random bits and bobs as they came to me, rather than straight through like I normally do) and I don’t even know what this is, other than several thousand words of angst with some sex. 
> 
> I had this prompt sitting in my prompt/inspiration list but then I heard Maren Morris’ “The Bones” and this basically sprung fully formed into my mind. It was like pulling teeth to get it onto paper though. You should listen to that song, I only did at least a thousand times while writing this.
> 
> The first part is extremely internal which is something I usually try to avoid (the whole show don’t tell thing), but it wouldn’t make sense any other way. 
> 
> I know other people have tackled this story line, probably in a better way, but I couldn’t help myself. 
> 
> Obviously takes place during 1x07, but I spread the canon plot out more, so it takes place over more days.

Elizabeth stands just outside the open doorway to her bedroom, taking a moment to covertly watch Henry. He is sitting in their bed, the light from the bedside lamp highlighting the gray’s in his hair, creating a halo-like effect. He is squinting at a stack of papers in front of him, his nose wrinkled up in annoyance, or perhaps confusion. His head pulls back and he shakes his head and starts furiously scribbling on the essay. A smile ghosts across her own face, she knows that look. He is perplexed by how poorly a student has made a point. They used to laugh about it, trying to outdo each other on absurdities and bad grammar. Used to. That’s the thing isn’t it, he hasn’t shared any funny student stories since before Georgetown. She might not have her own to contribute anymore, but that never stopped him when she was at the CIA.

She sighs, doing her best to stay quiet, she isn’t ready to be seen by him, to talk to him. Not after what Daisy had told her today. She snapped at the other woman and had been about ready to track down Henry herself and demand answers when Nadine had burst in with an urgent phone call from the Mexican ambassador (luckily that crisis had been easy to resolve). Now that she has had time to think about it and mull over all the details she had gotten out of Daisy (she might have use a few of her interrogation skills to grill her press coordinator), as well as a few she had dug up on her own, she is flummoxed. She doesn’t know what to do, she is frozen with indecision, and that isn’t a position that makes her comfortable. 

He has been lying to her, that much she is sure of, she’s ignored or been too busy to notice the signs, but the lies have been increasing of late. Some have been little, he says he’s running to the store, but comes back empty handed. Some have been big, his reasons for not going to India weren’t quite the truth, she could tell at the time, but didn’t want to push it, assumed it was something inherent about the nature of the trip or her position. If he’s lying that much, the only thing that makes sense, the only thing her exhausted mind can come up with, is an affair. And her brain, her terrible, far too capable brain conjures up images. Henry and another woman rolling around in a hotel bed, him kissing this woman in all the ways he used to kiss her, them laughing together about his absentee wife. Her stomach lurches at the thought.

She’s always thought of his moral’s as unimpeachable, her own are occasionally questionable, but Henry, Henry has often been too good for this world. She want’s to get down on her knees and plead with him to tell her the truth, but at the same time she doesn’t know if she wants to hear it. Would he even tell her the truth? If his morals have fallen so far that he’s broken their vows of over two decades, then how can she trust him to tell her the truth? She feels her breathing start to speed up. She needs to sleep and eat. Her brain is running in circles. 

Henry is her rock, the only thing she can count on in a turbulent word. But if that is no longer the case, if she is without an anchor, then what is she supposed to do? Who is she supposed to go to when her entire foundation has been ripped out from under her? She feels herself spiraling. This could all be a misunderstanding, maybe she is wrong, maybe there is another explanation for what’s going on. She should just have a simple conversation with him, ask him point blank. But there is nothing simple about that conversation. She’s been going over all of their recent interactions, every hurried kiss, every time she has called and said she was staying late at the office, every time she has been too tired for sex, every conversation cut short by the ringing of her phone. If her marriage has fallen apart, she has no one to blame but herself, and the more she thinks about the last few months, the more certain she is that it has fallen apart. He’s lying, she’s distant. She’s not sure if she wants the answer to her questions. She doesn’t want to know if this is what the end looks like.

He must sense her presence because he looks up and gives her a fleeting smile before looking back down at his papers. Is that different from how he greets her usually? Shouldn’t he have said something, glanced at her for more than half a second? She can’t remember, their flurry of typical greetings lost in the haze of routine. Her gaze skitters over the bedspread, in half a heap at the foot of the bed where Henry has presumably kicked it, her side still mostly pulled up, reminding her that she barely occupies this bed. He wouldn’t have brought this other woman to their home, into their bed, would he? Her heart stutters at the thought, memories of better times flashing through her, when they were moving in and he tackled her onto the bare mattress, telling her they needed to christen the bedroom, playful bickering when they were picking out the comforter, late night confessions whispered into the forgiving darkness.   
Another woman in this space, in their sanctuary… She shakes her head, desperately trying to clear it, she can’t think about the idea of Henry with somebody else, of him having memories like that with anybody but her. Her brain tempts her with dark thoughts, telling her that maybe he deserves better than a wife who is barely present, maybe he prefers being with someone easier and more more available, maybe she should let him. She doesn’t let them settle, but their presence lingers like a fog. 

She walks into the room and shuts the door behind her with a quiet snick. She moves over to stand beside Henry. He looks up with a distracted, slightly annoyed expression. “Something wrong?” He asks, but he is already looking back down at his work. She wants to scream that everything is wrong, Water is burning and she can’t seem to fix it, her husband doesn’t look at her like he used to and seems distracted when he kisses her. She needs something to be alright, something to make sense. She leans down and captures his lips in a kiss. He doesn’t reciprocate for three very long seconds, but then he softens, allowing her tongue to sweep against his. She attempts to shift herself so she’s on the bed, but he stops her with a hand and pulls his head back. 

“Elizabeth...” He trails off, his voice full of hesitancy, but she can’t be rejected, not tonight, so she grabs the stack of papers off his lap and sets them on the floor. He looks ready to protest, but she climbs onto the bed and straddles his lap and goes back to his lips. She needs this, needs to be reassured that she still has his body, that he still wants hers. She buries a hand in his hair and falls into the kiss. Is he less of an active participant? Is his tongue slower to enter her mouth? As her mind continues to whirl she presses down harder, scraping her teeth along his lips. She reaches blindly for his hand, and upon finding it guides it to her waist. He holds it there loosely and it feels like confirmation of every terrible thing she’s been thinking.

She wrenches back and starts violently pulling at his shirt buttons. He just lets her and her breath hiccups. Shouldn’t he see that something is wrong, stop her, and demand answers? She finishes with the buttons and leans away to tug her own blouse and camisole over her head, tossing it to the side. She unclasps her bra and sees that he has at least shrugged off his shirt. It’s something, but she wants him to do more, to touch her, to show some kind of passion. 

She places her hands on his chest and run her thumbs over his flat nipples. She hears him suck in air and smiles. She urges him back and down, but he resists. “Babe,” he cups her cheek, “you must be exhausted.” She doesn’t want to hear any more, because it just sounds like excuses. Instead of replying she shoves at him harder. This time he complies, shifting until he is laying down. He looks like he wants to say more and maybe she should listen, maybe he will assuage all her fears, but maybe he won’t, maybe he will confirm them all instead. She takes his lips in a savage kiss, using more teeth than tongue. When he lets out a yelp at her rough treatment, she starts trailing kisses across his jaw and down his neck until she reaches his chest. She scrapes her teeth gently across his nipples and he lets out a quiet moan. She wants to remind him how well she knows his body. 

She continues downward until she reaches the waistband of his lounge pants. She tugs them down and he helps her out lifting his hips so she can tug everything down and off. She throws the bundle to the side and observes his naked body. He is only half hard, but she reminds herself it’s because they’re older and perpetually exhausted and that it’s not because he’d rather be in bed with someone younger and perkier, someone who doesn’t have gray hairs constantly trying to overcome their hairdresser’s efforts. 

She runs her fingers across his sex and it twitches, she smiles. She teases him a bit more with her hand, enjoying his reactions. When she looks up he is watching her, and she doesn’t want his inquisitive eyes on her so she leans down and licks him from root to tip, stopping to suck the head, using her tongue to pleasure him in all the ways she knows best. He moans and she redoubles her efforts, moving her mouth up and down and bringing a hand up to caress his balls. His hand drifts down and tangles in her hair. He doesn’t direct or push, just holds it there. She counts this as a reason to cheer, him seeking out a connection to her. It takes longer than she expects (he is not imagining another head between his legs she repeats to herself), but eventually he is fully erect, pulsing in her mouth. She moans around him and his hips cant up just a little bit, pushing into her. This isn’t how she wants the night to finish though, she needs to feel him, to be together. She can tell though that she isn’t even close to ready and given the emotional turmoil she doesn’t think she’s going to get there any time soon.

Normally using her mouth on her husband is more than enough to turn her on, it’s not an uncommon occurrence for her to get herself off while she gets him off. Right now though she’s exhausted beyond all measures and she doesn’t even really want sex, but they need it, she needs it. She’s nothing if not a problem-solver, so with one last lick she releases him. She looks up and when he opens his eyes, she gives him what she hopes is a sultry smile and steps off the bed. She pulls the rest of her clothes off and tries not to think about how much she’d rather be stepping into a hot bath. The irrational part of her brain asks why Henry isn’t picking up on her mood, why when he’s normally so good at reading her, doesn’t he realize that she’s hurting? She knows it’s ridiculous to expect him to read her mind, she hates that she is being this kind of woman, getting mad at her husband for not being being omniscient. She digs in his night stand drawer, hoping the bottle of lube is still there.

He’s still quiet and not questioning her actions, which is odd, or maybe it’s not and she’s just going crazy. She snags her prize and climbs back onto the bed, straddling his knees, she squeezes a healthy amount onto her hand and tosses the container to the side. She fists his erection and pumps him slowly, waiting until he groans out her name and throws his head back. She smiles, perhaps her first genuine smile of the night, because hearing Henry call out her name in passion will never get old. She feels her blood start to heat and her brain finally quiet.

She shifts her body up and hovers over him, ready to sink down, but wanting him to meet her eyes, remember who he is doing this with. His eyes flutter open, searching for hers, and she pushes down, taking him inside. She holds still, clenching around him as he watches. She stays there until he lets out a whispered plea. She starts up a slow rhythm, reveling in this connection. His hand reaches up and cups her breast, running a thumb back and forth across her nipple. She gasps, electricity shooting through her brain. This is it, this is what it’s like when they’re together. How could she ever doubt this? 

But then he doesn’t move his hand any further downwards. He knows it’s a rare occasion when she can come without clitoral stimulation. A trickle of doubt creeps in, but she increases the pace, determined to have this. She brings her own hand between her legs and makes a few half-hearted swipes, but it’s not going to happen. Instead, she scrapes her nails down his chest in a way she knows drives him crazy. He groans and she twitches, maybe she won’t be able to have a fantastic orgasm, but a little one might be possible if he keeps sounding like that. She repeats the move and squeezes her internal muscles, moving her hand back to her clit. 

He lets out a garbled sound, and it’s probably her name, or a curse, or just nonsense, but her brain decides it’s another woman’s name and she goes cold. All the progress she had made towards coming stops dead. She stills her body, but he is already coming, she can feel him releasing inside her.

He opens his eyes and meets hers. His breathing is labored and he reaches and cups her face. That moment of tenderness almost breaks her. Everything inside her wants to curl up on his chest and seek out some shred of comfort, but she rolls off of him, still sticky with sweat, and faces the other way, pulling the sheets with her, feeling the need to cover herself. He doesn’t say anything about her not coming, he doesn’t offer to do something about it. Henry is nothing if not a considerate lover, this doesn’t feel like him, like the man she’s been married to for more than two decades. He tries to curl up behind her, but she edges away, mumbling something about being hot. He grumbles but obligingly flops back onto his side. She puts a fist up to her mouth and muffles a sob. He always wants to cuddle after sex, insistent on touching her in some way, maintaining the connection. She brings her knees up to her chest and does her best to hide the fact that her ribs feel like they are cracking. She can’t do this, she doesn’t know how to do this. She’s not sure how long it takes her, but eventually she falls into a fitful sleep.

She wakes up with her head full of fuzz and with a cold spot next to her where Henry had been. She grits her teeth, pulls from her well of quickly dwindling strength, and gets up. She will figure out what is going on with Henry, but she will fix the world first. She muzzles the little voice in her mind that tells her she’s just delaying the inevitable.

……………………………………………………………………………………………….

The crisis is over, or at least the international crisis, the one that seems to be slowly unfolding in her marriage is still bubbling. She sits at the dining room table slowly drinking a large glass of Scotch. There’s a full plate of food in front of her but she doesn’t have an appetite. She had gotten home an hour ago, sure that she was being paranoid and ready to have a quick conversation with Henry and clear everything up. Then Stevie resentfully told her that Henry had stepped out to buy olive oil. Her daughter said it while slamming a bottle of perfectly acceptable olive oil on the counter before leaving the house in a flurry of unsaid accusations and recriminations. She takes another sip of her drink and stares into space. She hasn’t managed to remove her coat and she should be overheating, but she hasn’t been able to feel anything since Stevie’s implication became clear. She needs to deal with that situation too, should probably punish her daughter for underage drinking and interrogate her on how the hell she had gotten served, but it isn’t her primary concern right now. 

She hears the front door open and close. She almost hopes it isn’t Henry. Avoiding her problems isn’t her usual strategy, but watching her marriage of 25 years fall apart isn’t something she has a strategy for anyway. Henry enters the room, empty-handed, and she throws back the last of the Scotch. He smiles upon seeing her and moves to kiss her. She dodges his touch and stands up. “Babe?” He sounds hurt and uncertain and she kind of wishes she still had a full glass so she could throw it at him. It’s over-dramatic but maybe it would have made her feel better. Instead she lashes out with her words. 

“Where’s the olive oil?” He gives her a quizzical look. “The olive oil, Stevie said that’s why you went out, so where is it?” 

He shrugs his shoulders. “I remembered we had some, so I just took a walk.” 

She arches her eyebrows in clear disbelief. “Don’t insult my intelligence Henry.” 

“Your intelligence? What? Elizabeth, you’re not making sense.”

She scoffs and stalks to the kitchen, where she had left the bottle of Scotch on the counter. She pours herself another glass, sloshing some onto the counter in her haste. She gulps down another mouthful.

Henry stands in the doorway. “How much of that have you had?” 

“Not enough,” she replies simply. 

“Is something going on with India? I thought everything was resolved, you worked your magic and all parties were satisfied.”

“Oh they are. I’m aces at fixing international problems, it’s the domestic ones that seem to be tripping me up.” She takes another drink. Her blood is suddenly running red hot so she sets the glass down, and struggles out of her coat, throwing it to the floor. 

“Are we speaking in riddles? Also, maybe you should slow down, that’s the good Scotch, not really something you should drink like bad shots.” 

She holds his gaze very deliberately as she finishes off the glass. “You’re right, maybe I should switch to Vodka, what is the proper drink for watching one’s life fall apart?” 

She holds the glass up as if to make a toast, he yanks it out of her hand. “Elizabeth, what the hell is going on?” 

She closes her eyes and shakes her head, and like a puppet with its strings cut, her body goes limp, drained of all fight, she falls back against the counter for support. She sighs, her voice quiets, “I don’t really want to know, but what’s her name?” It’s not quite the question she wanted to ask, but it’s the first one that sprang to mind, something that’s been haunting her, what name has he been calling out in pleasure, what name is she never going to be able to hear again without a visceral reaction?

Her eyes are still closed but she can hear the bafflement in his voice. “Whose name?”

She opens her eyes and takes one last look at him, drinking in his face before she has confirmation that he no longer loves her, that their vows mean nothing, that their marriage is over. “The woman. The woman who you’ve been seen around town with, the reason you suddenly couldn’t go to India and don’t try to sell me that nonsense about your book deadline, I already know that isn’t true, the woman who presumably you were just with.”

He is silent and she had thought that she was prepared, that she had no hope left, that she had accepted that their relationship was done, but apparently she was wrong. It feels like a body blow this silence. She covers her mouth and stifles a sob. “Oh god. It’s true?”

“Are you asking me if I’m having an affair?” She nods mutely, unable to form words. “Have you completely lost your mind?” 

The jury is still out on that one she thinks, but a kernel of hope reignites in her chest. She tries to squash it, can’t stand to hope again if she’s just going to be torn back down, because of course he wouldn’t admit it at first. She needs more answers, more information. “Where were you tonight?”

“Elizabeth...I...it’s not what you think.” 

She can’t help but let out a humorless chuckle, because that’s such a cliched response. She lashes out, throwing her accusations on the table. “I think that you’ve been lying to me, that you’ve been sneaking around, that our own daughter, and believe me we will circle back around to that one, saw you having lunch with a cute younger woman.”

He pauses, and cocks his head, “Wait, how long have you known about this?”

Why does that matter? Why is he not responding to her allegations? “About you lying? Since the beginning, but I don’t think I really consciously acknowledged it until I heard a few days ago about what Stevie saw.”

He looks at her agape. “A few days? You’ve thought I was sleeping with another woman for a few days and said nothing? You have lost your mind.”

She feels the need to defend herself, annoyed that he’s changing the subject and making this about her. “Don’t denigrate me, it’s not like there haven’t been a few other things on my mind, I don’t know if you’ve noticed.” He continues to stare at her, his face inscrutable. She can’t take it anymore so she walks back into the dining room and grabs the roll from her untouched plate. She tears off a piece and it’s halfway to her mouth when Henry grabs her arm and spins her around. Both pieces of bread go flying, but she is more focused on the fervent look on her husband’s face.

His fingers press into the flesh of her arm, too hard, she should be concerned that he’s leaving hard to explain marks, but she’s distracted by the passion blazing in his eyes. “I am not having an affair Elizabeth, I would never do that, I only want you, only ever you.” He brings his other hand up, tangles it in her hair, holding tightly. The sting in her scalp is drowned out by flood of relief pulsing through her veins. “You are everything, you are my everything Elizabeth.”

God she wants to believe him, every muscle in her body pulses with the desire to accept his words and go back to how they were before. She wants to fall into his embrace and forget this every happened, but she needs an explanation, her brain won’t accept anything less, she does push back into his hand a little though, reveling in that small comfort. “Then...what...how...” her words catch in her throat, overwhelmed by the adrenaline drop. 

He sighs and drop his hands from her, but she is having none of that and takes a step forward, crowding his space. A smile ghosts across his face. “I’m not supposed to tell you, but I’m done with that, they can yank my clearance if they want.”

All at once she knows what is going on and wants to collapse from the shame that fills her for ever doubting him, for letting her imagination run wild. Instead, she moves back, leaning on the table and lets him tell her the truth.

“The NSA reactivated me. I’ve been going out to see my handler, to get briefed and to make contact. That’s who Stevie saw me with, that’s why I couldn’t go to India with you.”

She shakes her head and can’t meet his eyes. “I can’t believe I didn’t put the dots together earlier, some analyst I am.” 

He huffs out a breath. “Yeah, not really your style to sit with that info for so long.”

Her body flushes and a hundred unsaid apologies fill her mind, each one sounding more desperate than the last. This is not the position she thought she would find herself. She wants to blame it on being exhausted or on the strain her position has put on their marriage, but neither of those things are the whole truth. Her beliefs weren’t without merit, she wasn’t just being crazy. She wonders if no matter the circumstances she would have doubted Henry. Her eyes finally look up and meet his, he looks uncertain, as if he isn’t sure how she will respond. She takes a deep breath. “I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know the truth. You lied to me, repeatedly, I know now that it was for a good reason, but you also had to know that at some point I would notice the lies, that I would start to wonder.” He looks guilty now and it’s unkind, but she can’t help but think that he thought she wouldn’t notice because she’s too busy. She certainly hopes he didn’t think she wouldn’t care.

“I didn’t think about it like that, to be honest. You’ve lied all the time because of your jobs.”

She narrows her eyes at him, he’s being reductive and he’s too smart not to expect her to call him on it. “That was different and you know it. You knew I worked for the CIA, you knew there were things I couldn’t tell you, trips I couldn’t explain fully. I wasn’t sneaking out of the house with paper thin excuses.” He starts to say something but she waves him off. “I get it, I know you weren’t allowed to tell me.” He looks pained. “Either you or I should have a conversation with whoever your higher-ups are about that, there are so many worse ways this could have gone south, there could have been major international fallout.” Theoretically she knows that would have been worse, but it doesn’t compare to the utter devastation of feeling like she’s lost the best thing in her life, so maybe the worse option would have been better. 

He makes a face. “Yeah, I think I’ll leave confronting Russell Jackson to you.”

She feels her vision go briefly red, “Russell instigated this? Russell told you I had to be kept out of the loop? He had you lie to me?” Her voice has gone up several decibels. Henry starts to speak but she slashes her hand through the air, stopping him. “Don’t, I’ll handle it.” She takes a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll deal with that later.” She pushes her rage to the side and vows to give Russell a piece of her mind. “Back to us. We still need to figure out the whole proper spycrafting thing.” Her voice gets quiet. “And maybe the whole proper maintaining a marriage thing.”

He gathers her in his arms. “Babe, we’ve got the marriage thing down.” She scoffs and he pulls her closer. “This was just a bump, we’ll figure it out. I love you, that’s what matters.”

“I love you too,” she murmurs. She buries her head in his neck, breathing in his scent, pine and mint. She revels in the feel of his warm skin against hers. She knows they need to talk more, that they have more to figure out, but she can’t shake the sense of loss, her body still shaking and uncertain. To counter it, she tilts her head back and tangles a hand in his hair, pulling him to her lips. It’s messy and inelegant, all teeth and tongue and desperate need. She pulls back with a gasp only because she needs air. She locks eyes with him and whispers vehemently, “Mine.”

His eyes flash and he shoves her back so the edge of the table is digging into her back and takes her mouth again. She wraps one leg around his waist and pushes against his obvious need. Her hands scratch up and down his back while he paws at the hem of her shirt until he reaches skin. When his skin touches hers, she feels as if she is burning and all she wants is Henry inside of her right now. She starts to tug at his sweater when he wrenches back and looks frantically toward the kitchen. 

Her brain stopped working a while ago so it takes her a moment to hear the creak of the steps and Aly calling out to them. He must have at least one working brain cell left because he falls into the chair closest to them and scoots close to the table. She has no time to compose herself before their daughter enters the room frowning down at her phone. “Mom, why is Stevie texting me to tell you that she won’t be coming back to that house tonight?” Aly looks up. “Oh hi Dad, you’re back.” 

“Oh, uh, she’s, we’re,” Elizabeth stumbles over her words and Allison gives her a judgmental look. 

“Are you guys fighting again?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth jumps on that lifeline, and it’s not even a complete lie. It seems like in the last five years her and Stevie are always at odds over something. 

Allison narrows her eyes, “You two are both so overdramatic. Whatever, since Jason is at Jake’s house, and Stevie is apparently not coming home, can I go to Marissa’s for the night?” 

Elizabeth nods and Henry remains silent. Allison smiles, “Great! She’s waiting outside to pick me up, I’ll grab my bag and leave.”

Her daughter scampers off before she can lecture her about assuming or fret about Allison getting in a car with someone who just got her license.

She looks over at Henry and he has his head in his hands. “Hey it’s a good thing, with Aly gone we have the house to ourselves.”

He looks up at her, his face a picture of despair. “It’s not that, it’s Stevie, she thinks I’m a cheater. How did it even get this far?”

She sighs and sits down in the chair next to him. “I’ve been caught up, I should have talked to Stevie, she completely overstepped, not to mention she got drunk in a bar and Daisy had to get her home.” Henry gives her perplexed look but she waves him off. She’s overcome with the need to lay everything out, to get back on solid footing in her marriage. She knows she can’t wait any longer to have this conversation with Henry. He might have said they have this marriage thing figured out, but clearly they don’t. They’ve talked about the mechanics of what happened, but there are still deeper issues at play. The only way to prevent another bump like this is to figure out what caused it in the first place. “I’ll explain later, but really I think the bigger issue is you and I, what is going on with us?” She leans back against the chair and looks up at the ceiling as if it holds the answers.

“I, I don’t think anything is going on,” he says tentatively. When she only gives him a look, he continues, “Okay, I think you’re overworked and overstressed and still trying to figure out the balance of how to be on call 24/7 for world altering crises and also be there for your family, we went from essentially living a life of leisure to the complete opposite at Mach 2. And, yeah, okay, maybe the you and I in the equation got a little lost in it all, but there’s bound to be some growing pains.”

She is unconvinced. “It’s not like the whole life of public service is new to us, my job at the CIA wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. I thought you were having an affair for three days and I did nothing. For god’s sake instead of talking about it, I tried to seduce you and then convinced myself you said another woman’s name.” She hadn’t meant to admit that, she covers her face with her hands. “You know you were probably right I have completely lost my mind.”

When she finally is able to squint at him through her fingers his mouth is opening and closing in a poor imitation of a fish. She scrunches her eyes closed again in embarrassment.

“I...uh..how...” Henry stumbles over his words and she finally looks at him fully. If she hadn’t already believed him, the look of utter bafflement on his face would have convinced her. He stands up and then grabs her hands and encourages her to do the same. He kisses her softly and then pulls back. “Elizabeth,” he draws her name out, emphasizing each syllable, “you are the only woman I love.” He pecks her left cheek. “The only woman I will ever love.” He pecks her right cheek. “The only person I want to spend the rest of my life with.” He places a kiss on the end of her nose. “The only woman who I want to seduce me, though I hope next time your reasons for doing so are fully carnal.” He gives her a more thorough kiss, and she’s almost ready to lose herself in it when he pulls back again. “The only woman who I don’t mind having occasionally awkward, a little bit unsatisfying sex with.” 

She quirks an eyebrow at him. “Unsatisfying? I seem to remember you being satisfied.”

“Babe, I was fucking exhausted. I wasn’t even really interested in sex, but you seemed like you needed it, as if it were vitally important, and the look on your face,” he chuckles, “I’ve never seen you look so determined in the bedroom, it was a little frightening. So yeah I came, but it felt wrong and weird. I haven’t felt that uncertain in bed with you in a very long time.” 

She looks down, overcome with shame again, but he won’t let her, he tilts her chin up with a finger. “Hey, it takes two to tango. We’ve both been in our own heads too much. This isn’t just on you. I should never have let it get this far either. I stopped communicating with you, and yeah maybe it was partially because I thought you wouldn’t care,” she visibly flinches at the confirmation of one of her worst fears, but he soothes her with a caress, rubbing her cheek. “That was only in my darkest moments, when I listened to the demons in my head.”

She pushes into his touch. “I do care,” she puts as much feeling into that statement as she can, “you, the kids, that’s everything. When I thought you and I were broken beyond repair I felt destroyed, like I didn’t know how to breathe. Nothing work-related has ever made me feel anything close to that.”

He looks pained. “Elizabeth, I’m sorry that I contributed to making you feel like that. I never should have let them convince me that I needed to keep you in the dark.”

She scrunches her face, because while she agrees with him on that, she doesn’t really feel like discussing the proper dissemination of classified information anymore. This is about more than that anyway. “We’ve got to figure this thing out. How do we make us a priority? How do we keep the lines of communication open when we both have to keep secrets?”

“Date night?” He throws out. 

She rolls her eyes, “There’s no way both of us will be able to keep a consistent night open on our schedules. Though I think we should try for at least once a month, a night for just us. We try to do family night, so we can have us night, but it will probably be less date night, and more impromptu we both have the night off time. We need more than that though.” She huffs out a breath, thinking. “Okay, this sounds silly, but how about we always say good night to each other, even if it’s only a thirty second phone call or a text?” 

He rests his forehead against hers for a moment. “I don’t think it’s silly. So we have date nights, that aren’t really date nights, saying good night. I say we also make time at least once a week to share the most important things going on, not with the kids or with work, but with us.”

She smiles, “Yeah, that will work, I like it. Maybe we do have the whole marriage thing figured out after all.” 

He laughs and leans down to kiss her. At first the kiss is sweet, gentle, a reassurance of their love for each other, but then she scrapes her teeth across his bottom lip and it does something to him. He cups the back of her thighs and lifts her onto the table. He trails his lips across her jaw, nipping at her ear lobe before shifting to her neck. She groans and tilts her head to the side to give him better access. When his mouth reaches her shirt, he makes a sound of displeasure and yanks it to the side so he can nibble at her collarbone. It’s a move that always makes her weak. He brings a hand up to her blazer and tugs at it, clearly indicating what he wants. Obligingly she shrugs out of it before tangling a hand in his hair as he teases her. 

His lips follow the line of her blouse, licking the vee of her cleavage before stepping back and tugging it over her head. She wants to protest but then his mouth is attached to hers again and his hands are on her breasts. She groans and wraps her legs around him. Her need has been reignited, she grinds upward seeking friction. She starts to scrabble at his belt, but in a moment of reason, she yanks herself away from him. “Wait, is Aly gone?” 

His eyes are wild, “What? Yeah, the front door slammed a while ago.”

She bites her lip and pulls at his sweater until he obliges her and takes it off. She rakes her gaze over his body and gives him a sly grin. “You know we haven’t christened this room yet.”

He reaches behind her and undoes her bra, before sliding it down her arms and tossing it to the side. “No time like the present to remedy that.” He swoops forward and takes a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. She gasps and falls back on her hands. Henry knows just how to build her up, tease her until she almost can’t stand it. She loses herself for a few minutes, closing her eyes and letting her blood heat as he teases both her breasts. She’s panting by the time she tangles a hand in his hair and tugs him up. He moves slowly, his mouth skimming her skin, murmuring words she can’t quite catch. When he reaches her neck, she finally hears what he’s been saying. “Love you so much. Only you.” She melts. 

He grabs her hips and pushes himself into her hard. “Mine,” he growls as he bites a spot behind her ear and sucks. She feels herself become wetter and if she doesn’t have him inside her in the next thirty seconds she’s pretty sure she’s going to combust. 

She scrapes her nails down his back, which causes him to yelp, and growls out her own “Mine,” when he’s a breath away from her mouth. She scoops her tongue across his as she works on his pants zipper. She gets it undone and reaches her hand inside to palm his erection through the cloth of his boxers. He bucks into her and she curls her hand, squeezing gently. 

He pulls away from her, breathing heavily. He steps back and sheds the rest of his clothes. She salivates at the sight, her husband is gorgeous and desirable, and most importantly, all hers. She sits up and attempts to pull him to her but he evades her touch. “You still have too many clothes on.” 

She arches her eyebrows and undoes her pants, lifting her hips up so she can slide them down her legs, purposefully leaving her panties on. “Better?” She inquires. 

He gives her a considering look. “I mean if that’s what you want.” And then he’s on her again, his lips devouring her, his hands squeezing her breasts, and his cock pushing against the silk of her underwear. She groans because it’s almost exactly what she wants. She reaches down in an attempt to remove the last barrier, but he stops her, pushing her hands away. “No, this is what you wanted so this is what you get.” He deliberately thrusts against her, his erection nudging her clit through the fabric.

“Henry,” she pleads. He doesn’t respond, instead urging her further onto the table as he kisses her. Her hands palm his ass and pull him forward. He seems to stumble, but then he is pushing up on his hands as he brings a knee onto the table and climbs after her. He falls fully onto her. “Just like that,” she murmurs. The rub against each other and she whines because he is still not inside her. 

Finally, finally he brings a hand down to her thighs, and pushes it underneath the silk she deeply regrets leaving on. He pushes two fingers inside and she has to pull back from his mouth to let out a long whimper. The back of her head hits the table as he starts up a slow rhythm. “Please.” It’s perilously close to begging but she doesn’t care. Instead of giving her more, he starts talking.

“I love seeing you like this, all flushed and ready to come. Do you know how beautiful you are?” She whines and pushes up. He continues, relentless. “How could you think I would want anything but this? Anything but you?” His voice turns savage and he adds another finger, slamming them inside of her, the top of his hand pushing against her clit. 

“Oh fuck yes,” she says in a voice just short of a scream. She feels her arousal climbing, the tension in her thighs reaching its peak. Suddenly he yanks his hand back and she has to stop herself from crying out. She opens her eyes, ready to lay into him. He looks at her, his expression full of a possessiveness that makes her shudder. He rips at her underwear, trying to push them down her legs. A seam rips in the process, but she doesn’t care, because then he is back on top of her and then he is inside of her. 

At his first thrust she explodes, contracting around him, bliss burning through her veins. “Henry, oh god,” she moans as she comes back to her self, “I want more, harder.” 

Instead of complying he leans down and kisses her. He increases the pace of his thrusts and she has to pull away from his mouth so she can focus. “Elizabeth,” he whispers her name very deliberately as he meets her eyes and she clenches around him at the intensity. He says her name again and it’s ridiculous how she almost comes just from that. 

She rewards him by pushing a hand into his hair and murmuring, “Henry.”

“Let me give you what you need,” he breathes into her ear and starts to pull back. She doesn’t let him and holds him close. 

She desperately tries to pull her thoughts together, because this is important. “You are mine too, don’t you forget it. Only for me,” she says with vehemence before biting at the side of his neck and sucking. Normally she’s not one for leaving marks, but she wants him to have the reminder. His rhythm stutters. 

She releases him and the look he gives her is nothing if not feral. He adjusts himself so he’s mostly kneeling on the table, pulls her legs over his arms and slams into her. She screams. Oh she’s going to be feeling this tomorrow, she can tell. The way he is bottoming out in her should hurt, does hurt, but it feels too fucking good to stop. He is relentless, pounding into her until she forgets that she ever thought he was doing this with somebody else. 

He brings a hand down and presses on her clit. She can tell he’s close to losing it and with the last modicum of her brainpower she squeezes her internal muscles, massaging his cock. He moans her name clear as day as he begs, “Liz, please, come for me, I want to feel it.” She falls off the ledge just as she feels him explode inside her. Pleasure runs through her body, scorching her skin. 

A small part of her mind notes as he lets go of her legs and drops his weight onto her. She breathes into his neck and runs her hands lightly up and down his sweat-slicked back. As she comes back to Earth she notes a twinge in her thigh and a dull ache already forming in her sex. She shakes her head. “We’re too old to have sex like that.” 

He mumbles something and pushes his head further into her skin. They lay there for a few more moments. She thinks briefly that this would be more comfortable someplace soft but she can’t bear to separate from him just yet. 

Eventually, he shifts so he’s propped up on his elbow next to her. He grins, “Now that was neither awkward nor unsatisfying.” She slaps his chest and he pulls a face. “And we’re not too old, though,” he winces as he rubs his knee, “I don’t know if I’m going to be able walk tomorrow.” 

She rolls her eyes, “You and me both bud.” 

“Worth it,” he says and she nods her head in agreement.

She starts to push herself up. “Hey babe?” 

“Mhmm.”

She looks over at him. “We’re going to make this work right? I mean the whole you working for the NSA and my job thing?”

He rubs her shoulder. “Yes. Our marriage has good bones, I love you and you love me, we’ll make it work.”

She smiles and her mind settles.


End file.
